


when i feel this cold you're like the fucking sun

by tremontaine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tremontaine/pseuds/tremontaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanov gets sex pollened. Neither she nor her boyfriends find this very appealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i feel this cold you're like the fucking sun

**Author's Note:**

> I don't quite know how to tag this - the sex pollen sex is dubcon because it's sex pollen, but the rest of the sex is ~~basically healing cock~~ schmoopy enthusiastic consent. 
> 
> My shame glands, where did I misplace them.

About the only good thing about sex pollen was that the whole idea was so fucking ridiculous that you spent quite a lot of time in the beginning not really believing it was actually happening to you, which helped distract from the physical arousal much more than you’d think, at least for the first half an hour.

“I think I’ve seen porn like this,” said Clint through clenched teeth.

“Uh-huh,” said Natasha, twisting in her seat.

“Will you do me a favour and quit moving?”

“Sorry.” Her lips were raw with being chewed on, and she kept clenching and unclenching her hands in distress.

Up in the cockpit of the quinjet Sharon said reassuringly, “Five minutes, guys. Then decontam. You’ll be fine.”

“Says the girl who didn’t get a face full,” said Clint gloomily.

“Hey,” said Sharon. “Was I the one who insisted on going first? No. No I was not. Thus does virtue have its own rewards.”

Natasha and Clint looked at each other.

“You asked for her,” said Clint.

“She’s good at her job,” said Natasha.

“She’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’ma take that as a compliment, coming from a couple of Avengers,” Sharon said happily. The quinjet began to sink; doctors and decontam units were lining up on the runway to greet them, and the arousal almost vanished under all the fuss that exploded when they got out of the jet.

“It’s alien bio material,” Doctor Chen yelled over the sound of the decontam showers. “You’re lucky not to be dead, frankly.”

“Yeah, we figured that,” Clint bellowed back.

“How soon can we get out of here?” Natasha shouted.

“Just give me a minute. I need to be sure you’re not infectious, then you can go jack off till you pass out, I promise. Agent Carter’s got the rest of the samples to the lab and she’s organising a full site lockdown now…”

That was comforting, Natasha thought sourly. God almighty she was turned on. The decontam shower wasn’t helping; she was so out of it that most of her brain felt the hot water sluicing her down as phantom hands on her skin, running ceaselessly over her shoulders, back, breasts, torso, legs. It was awful. All she had to do was blink to see an untidy blond head level with her crotch, big hands on her hips, blue eyes looking up at her wickedly. For a moment the fantasy was so very real that she actually put out a hand to sink it into Steve’s hair. When he turned out not to be there she nearly screamed.

“Can I leave?” she called to Chen, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“What?”

“Leave! Leave the base!”

“Oh!” Chen was silent for minute. Then she shouted, “If the results are showing non-infectious one-off physical reaction to immediate contact with the substance, which… it looks like they, are, congratulations, I don’t see why not. Barton?”

“My wife’s off undercover having angry hatesex with her ex,” said Clint. “I’ll pass.”

There was a brief but horrified silence before someone – probably Sharon – explained about the open relationship, and also probably the SHIELD-wide legend that Barton and Morse had met when Morse and Hunter had picked him up for a threesome once on a mission in London. Natasha knew for a fact that this was rubbish, but she was fairly sure a hatesex threesome had in fact happened at some point.

“Oh,” said Chen at last. “Well, you’ve got a room booked, Barton, so don’t worry about it. Romanov, where do you want to be?”

Anywhere the immanent extended jack-off session would not be recorded by the fucking CIA, Natasha wanted to yell. If that got onto tape the entire intelligence community would be jerking to it within twenty-four hours, and shortly after that the entire world.

“Brooklyn,” she said with an effort. “I’ll give you the address.” It wouldn’t even matter if they weren’t there. She would strip and get into the bed and masturbate till she really did pass out. The important thing was privacy.

+++

She couldn’t fit the key in the lock. Her hands were shaking too much. It had taken another two hours to get out here and her whole body was trembling, every step she took was agony, every square inch of her skin that lay in contact with even just her clothes was flayed raw. She couldn’t even find the doorbell; just hammered on the door.

When it opened she was leaning against it, shaking, palms pressed flat to the wood. She wouldn’t – the street was deserted, all she would have had to do was put her hand – but the door opened, and she stumbled forwards and straight into James’ arms. Oh bliss. Natasha gasped aloud as he gripped her, steadied her.

“Tasha – what’s happened?” Sharp, urgent, he thought she was hurt.

“Fuck me,” she said.

Blank silence. “What.”

“Who else is here?” She couldn’t see, couldn’t concentrate on anything, her face was two inches from his chest and she couldn’t make out what colour shirt he was wearing; all her senses were dulled but touch and smell, he’d been drinking orange juice, she could smell it tangy on his breath, the warmth rolling off his body was – was indescribable.

“Just me and Steve.” Thank god. “Tasha –“

She licked her lips. “Close the door,” she said, “and take me to bed. Now. Or on the floor, I don’t care, I’m burning up, I need – I _need_ ” – she was dragging her jacket off, her sweater; he cursed and slammed the door shut, reaching over her shoulder to catch the top and push – “there was this bioagent and I can’t, can’t stand it –“

She really couldn’t. James helped her get the sweater off; then his hands ran over her, oh god oh fuck oh glory, firm and hot, but it wasn’t a caress, fuck him, how dared he, he was checking for injuries, then he said, “Sex pollen?” doubtfully.

Natasha had never in her life had to put so much effort into speaking calmly and sensibly. “Clint’s got off three times in the decontam chamber while I was coming over here and Chen says the levels of the drug in his system are sinking exponentially with every orgasm.”

“Then why didn’t you stay put and have a couple orgasms?” He sounded exasperated, but he was helping her strip, and that was the important part. Oh, his hands, his hands, every brush of his skin on hers sent fireworks up underneath her skin, every touch of his metal fingers on her raw oversensitive flesh was heaven.

“And have the Black Widow’s sex tape on the six o’clock news tomorrow night?” She was shaking. He was still dressed. Why was he still dressed? He picked her up easily, hands on her hips and waist, swept the top of the hall table clean of keys and shopping lists and the phone with a single gesture, and dropped her on it.

Then he went to his knees in front of her and parted her thighs. The whole world went black almost as soon as he put his mouth on her, her breath stuttering, lashes wet with tears, she knew she was thrashing underneath him and couldn’t help it, even she could hear the thick desperation in her voice that sounded nothing like desire, nothing like want, nothing like love. She came all right – her limbs were jelly – but it was awful.

“Tasha!” Steve, standing in the doorway to the front room, flushed red and staring. “What the _hell_ –“ and even mindless as she was right now she loved him for knowing, _knowing_ , with a single look, that something was wrong.

“Sex pollen,” said James, standing up and curling his fingers inside her. Natasha moaned, hips bucking upwards, digging her hands into the edge of the table, let her head fall to the side and her eyes close. He was hard – they both were – because she was naked and screaming in front of them but their faces, their faces.

“Oh Nat.” Steve’s voice very near and gentle, and then his hands taking hers; they moved her, she was lying against Steve’s chest now, he was holding her up as James stroked his fingers inside her, built it all up again.

“Drops exponentially with every orgasm according to Clint,” she said hoarsely. “Oh, please, please, make it stop.” Her face was wet. She didn’t think it was perspiration. “Make it _stop_.”

James twisted his wrist and rubbed his thumb over her clit and the world shattered again, sharp and bitter. Distantly she heard him say, “… doesn’t taste right,” and felt a twist of fear. Once more. She could manage once more, quickly, now, negligible levels after the third orgasm, Chen had said over the phone, please, please, one more, get it out, get it all out. She clung to Steve’s bicep with one hand and put the other between her legs, rubbing at her clit till it hurt, James curled his fingers inside her again, fucking her on his hand, and Steve nudged her head to the side a little so he could kiss her neck: “We’ve got you, love, it’s all right,” and for the first time James kissed her, hard and deep and then gentle, achingly gentle, and Natasha came again.

Panting, she came back to herself on Steve’s lap in the bathroom, cradled tight while James ran her a bath.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped.

Steve’s arms tightened round her hard. “No,” he said. “Don’t apologise.”

“Didn’t really think you’d be here. Was just gonna –“

“Ride it out yourself and then bring it up nonchalantly over breakfast tomorrow?” said James, but he sounded teasing and not angry.

“How’s it feel now?” Steve asked.

Natasha put her head on his shoulder and considered it. “I… better. Sore. Still kind of want it, though.” She shuddered. “I mean, turned on but don’t want it. It was alien bio material, they hadn’t secured it properly. God, I’m glad you weren’t there.”

James started laughing. Steve said, “Ouch!”

“We’d have been fucking like animals on the floor of a HYDRA lab with half the CIA listening in,” Natasha said bluntly. “This is better.”

Silence then. She looked up at James. He was sitting on the edge of the bath watching her, long legs flung out in front of him. He had such great legs, really.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Love you,” he said. They had to help her into the bath, she was so clumsy with weariness and lingering arousal. Thankfully that was now easy to ignore. She was wrung out and everything ached; not exactly conducive to desire. It had taken less than twenty minutes and James had only had two fingers inside her but she felt as sore as if she’d spent half the day being fucked – and not much enjoying it. Natasha sank into the hot water, groaning, and then slid down the tub till her head was submerged and her knees were sticking out of the water. When she came up again her hair was soapy with bubbles, but she didn’t smell the decontam shower anymore, at least. She would fall asleep in here if she wasn’t careful.

“Get you some water?” Steve said.

Natasha nodded. Steve went out but James stayed with her; she put her head against the side of the tub and closed her eyes. After a second, she felt his fingers on her shoulder, neck, jaw.

“Thought you were dying when I opened the door.”

“Felt like I was.” She pried her eyes open. “Are you OK?”

He laughed quietly. “Am I OK. Yeah. Don’t ever want to have you look at me like that again, though.”

“Like what?”

“Like you hated it.”

She was quiet. “Did I? Well. I did hate the bio thing, it was horrific. Did you say I didn’t _taste_ right?”

“Sweet,” he said, “and – plasticky. Like bad candy.”

“Eurgh.”

“Yeah.”

Steve was back. He had a bottle of mineral water, unopened, and Natasha drank half of it in a single go.

“Phone,” she said. “Would you check on Clint?”

“Sure.” James stood up. “Be right back.”

“Has he gone to freak out?” she asked Steve when he’d closed the door behind him.

“Maybe a little.”

“Don’t let him yell at Chen. Or Sharon.”

“All right,” Steve said peaceably. He didn’t move, though. “Want me to wash your hair?”

Natasha didn’t have to think about it. “Yes, please.” Oh lovely. She wrapped her arms around her knees and let her head fall about under his hands, the soothing pressure of his touch. He massaged the shampoo into her hair slowly, fingers working over her scalp long past strict hairwashing needs, and it was perfect. “You saints.”

“Sorry, are you sure we’ve met?”

She snickered. “Positive. Can’t get rid of either of you.” She felt him kiss her shoulder, the stretch of his lips as he smiled.

“You ever really try?”

“Not willingly,” she said, little catch in her voice. She tipped her head back; Steve kissed her mouth, slow and warm. Natasha sighed, hummed, nibbled on his lower lip. She loved Steve’s mouth. It was gorgeous. And the serum hadn’t changed a thing about it, if the SSR photos were to be believed, so she could lust over it without feeling guilty. Ogling his shoulders made her feel shallow.

Then his fingers tightened on the back of her neck and he dunked her under, grinning. She shrieked and kicked half the bath at him, laughing like a child, loud enough that she knew James would hear and know nothing was wrong. Steve fell against the toilet, laughing too and sopping wet, served him right.

“You bastard!”

“Oh come on. When you mope, you mope for weeks.”

“I don’t _mope_!” She was laughing too much to get anything else out – just flailed, and then crossed her arms on the side of the tub and put her head on them, shaking. Darling idiot. All the tension had gone out of her – and not even alien-bio-material-induced physical arousal survived a dunking, apparently. Now she was nothing but exhausted.

“No of course not. What was I thinking.”

“Are you killing each other?” said James. “Jesus. I’m not cleaning this up.”

“That’s on Steve,” Natasha said instantly, who just laughed harder.

“Barton’s fine. He ate for six and then went to sleep, apparently.” He nodded at Natasha. “You wanna try some food?”

She drank the rest of the mineral water and considered it. “No. No, honestly I just wanna sleep. I’ll pig out on breakfast food in the morning.”

“OK.” James grinned at her suddenly, and it made her utterly happy to see it. “You might wanna rinse your hair out, mind.”

Natasha started laughing again. “Take him away and let me get on with it, then.” She flung a hand up – dripping all over the already swimming floor – and pointed at Steve, who fell about laughing again. James kissed her; then they left, Steve stripping his wet clothes off in the doorway and dropping them into the laundry hamper. Natasha fell back into what was left of her bath and sighed. What a mess. A humiliating mess. Had she really looked at James as if she hated -? Yeah, she probably had. It made her shake. Hate him. Nothing could be worse than that.

What the hell had James told Chen about who he was, come to think of it? The wider intelligence community having a sex tape of her would have been bad; the wider intelligence community discovering the Black Widow was shacked up with the Winter Soldier might be worse… and that was before anyone had touched on the threeway with Captain America aspect. Oh why was she worrying, he had probably pretended to be Steve. He wasn’t stupid. It was just –

It was just that she was exhausted, and tomorrow morning she would have to wake up and face the fact that she’d come here hopped up on unintentional alien aphrodisiac and fuck-or-die-blackmailed her boyfriends into – But she knew them well enough to know that was a thought best kept to herself. There would only be a giant row, how-dare-you-think-we-wouldn’t-style, with a side order of that’s-not-the-point and yelling about people’s choices. Natasha groaned to herself. Thank god, thank _god_ , neither of them had come on the mission.

She rinsed her hair under the showerhead at last and dragged herself out of the bath; dried off and staggered into the master bedroom, where she found clean underwear and a shirt of – actually, she didn’t know if it was James’ or Steve’s. She wasn’t sure they knew, either. They probably did. Natasha put it on and blow-dried her hair any which way, sitting on the window seat because she was too tired to stand upright and hold the hair dryer as well. They were coming up the stairs; one of them went to mop up the bathroom – then James was standing in front of her. Had she dozed or had he teleported across the room?

“Come on.” He lifted her up; four strides to the bed. It smelt deliciously of all of them: warm bodies and sex, lotion, detergent. Natasha snuggled into the pillows, but when he started to leave she grabbed him.

“Stay with me?”

“You sure? Don’t wanna do –” something you don’t want. _Two_ darling idiots.

And all hers.

“Want you,” she said. Wanted to be held all night, surrounded, comforted. Wanted to wake up safe and warm… poor Clint, asleep alone in a bare cell in a CIA base with Bobbi miles away… “Want Steve too.”

“All right.” He stripped off, down to t-shirt and boxer-briefs, climbed in with her. “There. Better?”

“Oh, much. M’taking advantage. Shameless. Love you so much. Never hate you…”

He chuckled. “I know. You’re cute when you ramble.”

“Not,” she said with effortful dignity, “ _cute_.”

She didn’t notice when Steve came in, but she woke up blearily once in the night and saw him beside her, sitting up reading by the moonlight. That was always creepy. Then she was gone again… woke twice more, hemmed in front and back and trapped deliciously, no way out, nothing getting in, not even alien bio material: this was their house, not a HYDRA lab.

Safe.

+++

The weather turned filthy overnight. In the morning Natasha lay for long silent minutes listening to the rain and wind rattle the window-panes. There was a breeze across her face where one of the upper panes in the bay window had been left on the tilt for the fresh air to come in, a pleasant contrast to the warm duvet – and the even warmer boyfriend. She was tucked tight against Steve, the little spoon for once, his breathing even; she so rarely caught him truly asleep. He didn’t really need more than four or five hours a night, and he had a trick of sinking into a doze when he wanted that could last for a couple hours, skimming the surface of sleep but still awake enough to rouse and respond to you if you spoke to him. Usually, by the time she woke up, he was floating in that, too lazy and comfortable to get out of bed. He slept naked, and their bare legs were pressed together. Natasha was tired and comfortable and absolutely happy to her bones. It was perfect.

When she opened her eyes again James was standing in front of the dresser, towelling his hair dry, perfectly naked. Natasha sighed a little. Pot of coffee steaming on the dresser top. He had picked up a tan over the summer; it highlighted the contrast between his left shoulder and his skin, but still looked healthier than the pallor she remembered. He needed to put no more effort into keeping his muscle tone than Steve did, but, curiously, unlike Steve he did put on weight, a little: the cut of his hips was softer now, his chest defined but less… less brutal. And those thighs. And that ass.

He dropped the towel, strapped his wristwatch onto his right wrist, looked round at her. She grinned at him.

“Mornin’,” he said, drawling a little.

“Hello, soldier.” Anticipation curled delicious knots in her stomach; ordinary, unremarkable, human desire was beginning to tighten her body. It felt lovely. Natasha licked her lips.

“Mmmph.” That was Steve. “That coffee?”

“I think,” said James lowly, “our girl’s got another kinda breakfast in mind.” So did he, by the looks of things. Natasha wriggled up against Steve, grinning again, and sighed when he hooked her hair out of her face and tilted her chin up to kiss her. Morning breath. Why. But oh yes. His thigh nudged heavy between her own, and he cupped her breast and stroked her nipple for a moment. Then he yawned, and James chuckled.

“Coffee, then.”

“Don’t,” said Natasha, “put your clothes on,” which just made him laugh more. God, she loved to make him smile. They had coffee, trading kisses and quiet jokes; Steve went to the bathroom and cleaned his teeth and when he was done Natasha slipped in. Damp and steamy, the room smelt of the shower gel James used. Natasha cleaned her teeth, ran her wet hands through her hair – hopeless – and then stripped, dropping shirt and panties onto the lid of the laundry hamper. What was the damage? None, in physical terms. She had a couple bruises on her waist and upper arm where one of the mercs had got close, but nothing remarkable. Natasha could brush her legs against the couch and get bruises. It was very inconvenient. Experimentally she touched her cunt; not sore, no. She thought about James going down on her – remembered Steve fucking him last week, the way they’d moved together, the way James had bitten his lips raw, the tight controlled power of Steve’s movements –

Oh. Natasha circled her clit with her fingertips. Oh yes.

She pushed her hands through her hair again and walked back into the bedroom. James was sitting naked on the bed – reading! – and Steve was standing by the window, looking out at the back yard being drowned in autumn rain.

Natasha shut the bedroom door and leant against it. They both looked up, the movement smoothly, subconsciously synchronised. The book fell out of James’ hand onto the mattress. Steve said, “You sure you’re OK?”

She might laugh him off, she might tease, she might say something seductive and beckoning. Sometimes, even now, even months into this, she still saw the list of options unfolding before her inner eye, flagged ‘do X if you require Y’, a merry garden path of lies and manipulations open to her whenever she chose to take it.

“Yes,” she said simply. Then she pushed on. “I want you. I don’t want to – remember that today. You know, I got on the quinjet and it was hilarious? At first? _Sex pollen_. Clint and I were going, Nick’s never gonna believe this. But it just kept getting worse.” She smiled again, rubbed her fingers over her mouth – the fingers she’d had on her clit just now, she realised when she smelt herself on them. “But it’s gone. I want you.” There wasn’t anything else. Natasha moved to the bed, smiling again. Steve met her at the foot of it, arms round her shoulders and waist and mouth hot, wet, demanding; she shuddered all over and sank into it, her hands pressed against his chest, her body curving into his.

Yes and yes. She closed her eyes, rubbed her knee against the side of his, slid her hands up over his shoulders and into his hair, moaned when the kiss turned dirtier, when his teeth caught her bottom lip gently, when he nipped his way down her throat and back up. He took a step forwards, urging her towards the bed. James’ hands on her back, her hip.

“Want you too.” His grin was all mischief. One day Natasha would work out the secret behind that telepathy they employed in bed when they’d gang up on her just so – take now – the way she passed easily from Steve’s arms into James’, laid out sideways across his lap as he kissed her, her hands against the cool plates of his arm. She was twisting about eagerly, wanting more skin, more kisses, hands between her legs - for a moment yesterday flashed through her mind, the way they had held her up and finger-fucked her relentless and perfunctory, she would have let them do anything - anything - but that was yesterday, and if she lay here now and let them run the show it was because she was too lazy to do it herself, not because she couldn't. James' cock was hard against her hip, and Steve was kneeling –

“Oh no you don’t. Get up here.” James caught hold of his ear, grinning, dragged him up.

“What,” Steve said suspiciously, “are you planning?” and kissed him before he got an answer, as wet and dirty as he’d kissed Natasha. Panting little breaths; the way James’ hips moved under her; Steve’s thighs to either side of one of hers, his fingers buried in James’ hair. Natasha squirmed in James’ lap very deliberately, and wrapped a hand around Steve’s cock – he shuddered and sighed into the kiss, muttered “Yeah, oh, Tasha –“

“You are both,” said James, “ruining everything. Get up there.” He shoved Steve around till he was sprawled on his back in the pillows, laughing, legs spread, his own hand replacing Natasha’s on his cock. “And you –“

Natasha had never been very good at the innocent look. “Am I in the middle?” Suck Steve off while James fucked her, mmmm. Or the other way around. Or –

“You kind of asked for it.” He pushed her down onto Steve’s chest, trapping his cock at the small of her back, and Steve’s arms came around her, his hands cupping her tits, lovely. James’s eyes were hot and pleased and calculating. He put his hands on her thighs, left them there, leant in and licked and suckled at her tits, Steve’s fingers bumping against his mouth, every tug and caress made her cunt clench in anticipation, in half a minute she was moaning, close to pleading, hips rolling up and moving her legs helplessly, rubbing them against Steve’s. Then James parted her thighs, hooked them over Steve’s open legs, his knees holding hers apart, and curled up between their legs.

Steve said in her ear, “You know, it really gets to me that he loves to give head so much,” and Natasha, already playing with James’ hair as he kissed his way from her tits to her navel and down to her mons, said, “Oh me too, me too,” breathlessly.

“Speaking of which,” said James and pinched Steve’s hip, “you are not gonna come before Nat does. Wanna suck you off.”

Steve shivered. “Yeah, go on.”

“Oh do,” Natasha said. “Just shove me off and go to town, face all wet, mouth swollen –“

“You like my mouth swollen.”

“Of course,” Steve said, and James laughed. He combed Natasha’s pubic hair back – stroked his fingers along her slit, slow and firm – bent his head and followed fingers with tongue. She gasped out loud, rolling her hips into his mouth. Steve was playing with her tits again.

“How – how do I taste?”

James drew back just enough to answer, hot breath gusting over her cunt. “Like a dream. Settle in, darlin’, gonna be here a while,” and that just – that was just impossible. She pushed his head down, thighs clenched, moaned as he licked her, over and over, not even bothering with her clit yet, she was so, so wet already, she could feel it.

“Feel good?” Steve murmured. “Beautiful like this, you know, gorgeous, totally given up to it. Love the way you move, Tasha, how your whole body twists up, the way your hips draw circles – yeah. Go on, shout if you want to, nobody to hear but us.”

And all the while he was pulling on her nipples, rolling them, gentle and slow, massaging her tits. He was leaking pre-come against her back, but nothing really existed just now except his hands and his voice and James’ mouth, the way his tongue curled inside her, the bump of his nose against her cunt when he pulled back, shifted and licked at her again, finally remembering her clit existed, circles round it, barely touching, she swore at him angrily – swore at both of them – ordered and demanded and rained down imprecations on their heads that other men would’ve blanched at even in the heat of sex – begged, finally, close to incoherent, teased to the very knife-edge of orgasm and hauled back over and over; when she tried to push James away and use her own hands Steve caught her wrists tight and held them pressed against her ribcage – went back to orders at last, damn you damn you just let me come, and every second was perfection, if it stopped she would kill them, kill them both, this was heaven, glory, ecstasy without end or climax.

Nothing but desire; nothing but want; nothing but love. They had done this to themselves and it was beauty. Natasha sobbed when she came, finally, when she sank into darkness tense and shaking, the aftershocks jangling through her body, every nerve alight, every inch of her skin sensitive. Boneless, she lay on Steve’s chest and took kisses from both of them, breathing too hard to return them, trembling. Steve's cock jerked against the small of her back, his hips rolling up in a mindless rhythm, carrying her body along with it. He was breathing hard in her ear, hands clenching and unclenching incessantly where they lay on her chest.

“Sadist,” she said at last.

James laughed against her breastbone. “Talented.” He sounded far too pleased with himself. “Hey, you wanna move over a little?”

She started laughing; collapsed into the pillows next to Steve, had the best view in the house for the way James swallowed him down, where _had_ he learnt to deep-throat, she was a little afraid to wonder. Unlike Steve, he’d had that talent before this started. Steve moaned and twisted and said, “Yes, Buck, oh Christ you feel good, don’t stop,” and Natasha, being the kind of girl who believed in turnabout being fair play, set herself to making his nipples as overstimulated as her own, soaking up the way he moaned for it, the way his voice broke into absolute filth and then tried to rein it in, the sudden cry he gave – she assumed James was playing with his ass – and the way his movements got more frantic after, the heavy tug of his hand in her hair where it lay across his chest. And then, James must be getting desperate, he didn’t quite draw it out as long as he had with Natasha (then again, it could’ve been centuries with her for all she would’ve noticed), Steve cried out again – his whole body tensed – his hips jerked up helplessly into James’ mouth, and she was pretty sure he was swallowing, he usually did.

“Fuck.” Breathing hard, flushed prettily pink, that mouth delicious, Steve underneath her was a dream. Natasha kissed him and kissed him, her body growing tight and heavy again; really, five times in less than twenty-four hours? But this was still herself, still normal, and if she could she was gonna. James was kissing Steve’s abdomen, the long-vanished knot of the bullet scar he’d left there, the appendectomy scar Natasha had never seen, the burn where once, apparently, there had been an accident with a red-hot crowbar and a HYDRA soldier in Vichy. James could trace all of Steve’s scars on his skin for her to see and comfort… her knee bumped his shoulder as she and Steve kissed, and Steve put his arm around her back and his hand on her ass, squeezed and caressed. Yeah. Natasha wriggled up his body so he could get that hand between her legs.

Steve took the hint. He pulled at her thigh with his other hand, parting her legs against his side, got both hands where she wanted them, laughed against her lips when she groaned. “Hey, again?”

“S’all me,” she said. “Promise.” Kissed him again and pulled away, put her hand back in James’ hair, it was a hopeless mess and would be all day, every time she looked at him she would remember how exactly she and Steve had gotten him looking like that…

“Yes, ma’am,” James said dryly, smirking just a bit, red mouth curled up sly and knowing.

Natasha pointed, imperious, to the empty bed on Steve’s other side. “On your back.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, delighted. She climbed over Steve, settled over James’ hips as he stretched, reached back and gripped the headboard (long since dented by this very move, from both of them). Rubbed herself against him, teasing, shook her hair out of her face so she could see his, watch the way his throat moved when he swallowed, examine in detail the lines of his chest. He didn’t full-body-flush the way Steve did, but there. She took his cock in her hand and guided him in, sank down slowly with both hands on his chest, oh, oh. The blood was beating in her cheeks, she was stretched wide and filled up and aching, he bucked his hips and cried out, “Tasha, Tasha,” Clint had quit calling her that after he worked out that James and Steve both did, it was cute. Steve’s hand was on the small of her back, steadying. She realised she hadn’t moved; was trembling with her eyes half-closed…

When she spoke her voice was rich with desire. “God you feel good in me. You always do…”

“Tasha,” James said, biting his own mouth and flexing his fingers helplessly. “Move or I will.” That meant get her on her back and fuck her till she screamed. Delicious. Tonight. Or tomorrow, more realistically. Right now – she circled her hips tight and slow, minute, really.

“Moving.”

“Oh you –“

“Shush. I love you.” The really great thing about saying that in the middle of sex was that it stopped him dead like he’d been slapped. She didn’t know why. Statement backed up with immediate empirical proof? Figure-eights always got to him. She pushed up, hands on his chest for leverage, sank down, began to find a rhythm, moaning at the push and drag, the perfect friction, the way his hips moved up to meet hers, she was leaning forwards, hair brushing his chest, felt Steve behind her, kissing her shoulders and neck, then moving away, leaned back again, stretching up, pushing her hands through her hair.

All of a sudden James dropped his hands from the headboard and sat up, fingers tight on her waist, kissing her tits, she gripped his shoulders, bent her head over his for a moment, watched Steve kissing the seam of metal fusing into skin on his back, the shudder that took James – pulled on his hair to tilt his head back and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, barest brush of lips to open-mouthed making-out kisses, wet and hot, clenched herself around him, drew up, pushed down over and over, every second he was inside her was bliss, pushed him gently back into the pillows where Steve took that kiss-red mouth, his hand tilting James’ chin back, fingers at his throat, nothing more than a gentle touch but oh dear god. Let’s not forget the experiments with erotic asphyxiation. They had been – brutal, on all of them, hot but far, far too intense to repeat. Natasha shook at the memory. James’ hands flexed and clenched on her waist as if he knew what she was thinking of, and then – his hips bucked harder – “Yes,” she said, “come on, there you go, lasted so long, been so good to both of us, love you so much,” and that, as the saying went, was all she wrote, moans muffled by Steve’s mouth, whole body shaking as his hips thrust up and up, just a little more, a little, come on, and Steve’s fingers on her clit made her come crying out.

She fell forwards, useless, onto James’ chest. For the next few centuries the only noises she could hear were her own heavy breathing, James’, the rapid thudding of his quick heartbeat under her cheek. Unless that was her own. Hands on her back, stroking mindlessly, soothing. She was hungry, Natasha realised suddenly. When she woke up she would eat a horse.

When she woke up. James seemed prepared to sleep with her on his chest like this – they had done it before – Natasha stretched her legs out, wincing, the final effort. The breeze from the tilted window brushed cold across her sweat-damp skin until Steve dragged the duvet over all of them, draped his arm across her hips below James’. He was slipping out of her; she bit her lips and wanted to wriggle in protest, but couldn’t make herself move. This was –

+++

Her phone was ringing. Dizzy, sleep-drunk, sex-drunk, Natasha sat up. Middle of the day. James was groaning underneath her – “Make it fucking stop,” – and Steve was gone; even that dozing trick of his couldn’t last him all day. No wait he was in the window-seat. Natasha scrambled for the phone on the nightstand.

“Yeah,” she rasped, and reached then for the glass of water.

“Midday check-up,” said Doctor Chen crisply. “How’s it looking, Agent Romanov?”

“What?” said Natasha.

“…the sex pollen?”

“Sorry, still asleep.” She gulped water and fought down a yawn. “Fine, everything’s – fine. I’m starving. But fine.”

“How many orgasms?”

“Uh. Three. Till it stopped.”

“Completely?”

“No,” Natasha said. “But after that I could ignore it.”

“Masturbation?”

“No.”

“But still three.”

“Yes. And” – better tell her, she was the doctor – “again this morning. But not – because of that.”

“It’ll definitely be gone then. All right. Make sure you eat and make sure you drink and I want to see you back here tomorrow morning, OK? Barton’s fine, bloodwork completely clean, sends his love. Agent Carter asked me to tell you the bio-materials are corrupted to hell and she’s arguing to have ‘em destroyed, but we’ll see. Anything else?”

“Don’t call again,” Natasha said.

Chen laughed. “Yeah. Make your boyfriend take good care of you, OK? See you tomorrow.” She hung up. Natasha dropped the phone back onto the nightstand.

“Starving?” said Steve.

“Uh-huh.” Natasha stretched, back arching and her hands reaching for the ceiling, and then dropped back onto the mattress. James pulled her close again.

“Anything?”

“Check-up tomorrow morning. Clint’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah.” She yawned. “Think I’m gonna sleep some more, to be honest.” Steve laughed. She fixed him with a stern look. “You gonna sit there and watch me sleep all day?”

“Tempted,” said Steve. “But no. I’m a bit messed up but I hope I’m not that creepy.” He came over to the bed and kissed her; kissed James. “Meeting Sam. Shall I bring back groceries?”

“No, I’ll do it,” said James. “In a bit.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a word to Sam about the sex pollen,” said Natasha. “Clint will wanna try and get him to believe he started an orgy.”

“Clint thinks he’s hilarious,” said Steve, rolling his eyes while James laughed.

“He likes freaking people out sometimes, he says it says a lot about them,” said Natasha. “Which is true, if not my style.” She burrowed back into the pillows. Steve and James kissed again and then he was gone; James slung an arm across her hips and sighed.

“Glad you came home yesterday,” he said quietly.

Natasha smiled. “Me too.”

 

 

 


End file.
